The day began at an indecent hour with a visit from Building Control, whose man has signed off our work on the basis of perhaps 15 seconds on the premises. If he’s happy, that’s something, though we can’t help remembering that we’ve paid £450 for three perfunctory visits. We keep finding irritations with the work: the new window frame doesn’t match the rest of the house, the window ledge has a distinct list to port, and we have far more decoration to do than we’d expected. Enfin, merde. We are still capable of some painting, sanding and filling, so should be grateful for that at least - and the bill was much lower than we expected.
Martyn has treated me to a new watch (in anticipation of which the faltering old one has not missed a beat for the past couple of weeks). He also got me a kneeling stool which will allow me to garden with much less Ach und Krach. We took a ride down to Rye Harbour for lunch at the Bill the Conk, and a half-mile stroll down the side of the very low Rother estuary.
On the way home, we called in at one of the big sheds and bought a pressure washer that has removed much of the crap left on the drive by the builders and their skip. The chap at B&Q steered us towards a product that he reckoned is more reliable, and much cheaper, than the much-mispronounced market leader. We shall see.
We also dropped by the butchers for some gammon steaks, of suitably modest proportions, given that we’d lunched out.
There have been worse birthdays.
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